


Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot

by Shadow_Chaser



Series: Letters Home [9]
Category: Assassin's Creed, Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF!Semi-Assassin-trained!Benjamin Tallmadge, Ben finally fills Caleb in on most of the plotline, Ben is a father to his men, Ben is forced to choose between the Assassins and Washington, Ben puts the skills he's learned as well as the training he's had to use, Episode: s02e10 Gunpowder Treason and Plot, Gen, Haytham is always a one-scene wonder, Sequence 10 Mission 3 Alternate Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-02 03:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5231924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Chaser/pseuds/Shadow_Chaser
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A 3-part interconnected one-shot alternative scenes to Episode 10 "Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot" as well as Sequence 10 - Mission 3 look.   It is time to pick a side as the Assassins and Templars bring the war to a head at Monmouth as well as its aftermath.  Secrets are revealed and personal histories come under scrutiny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gunpowder - Monmouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Season 2, Episode 10 “Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot” and Sequence 10, Mission 3 “Monmouth” alternate scene. Ben is forced to chose his allegiance between the Brotherhood and Washington. Alliances are made to be broken.

The lines were holding well into the afternoon as Ben and Caleb galloped up to the ridge where Washington was directing the main cannon defensive line. He had sent the rest of the 2 nd Light to await him near General Greene's lines while he reported to General Washington for more orders. General Wayne and Scott had him reform the 2 nd Light to round up the stragglers earlier after their successful ambush of both British calvary and infantry lines in the woods. Afterwards, Scott had sent him to Washington for more orders and to tell the Commander-in-Chief the good news. That was where Ben found himself now with Caleb at his shoulder.

“Ben, we should let Washington know-”

“Not now,” Ben shook head, “it's a risk, I know, but we can't distract him, not until the British are routed.”

The letter Caleb had given to him containing the fact that there was a plot against Washington sat like a lead weight on him. He wanted to read it, but there were skirmishes still going about and Ben needed his wits about him. He had a feeling that once he finished reporting to Washington, Greene would want to 2 nd Light to force a charge against Cornwallis' lines to make him retreat.

He glanced behind him to see Caleb with a flat look on his face, but accepted it as they rounded the ridge. Ben grimaced at the sudden blast of cannons going off one by one, but before he could speak, he heard the sound of hooves beating against the ground and turned to see the Marquis de Lafayette rushing up the ridge.

“Marquis!” Ben called out and the Frenchman waved as he skidded to a stop.

“Sir!” the Marquis sounded out of breath as he turned to address Washington, “I had to order a retreat of the secondary cannon lines. The British are pressing against the lines and my men cannot hold them.” Just then, several loud explosions filled the air from the hill to the right they were on.

Ben watched, horrified as bodies of red were tossed into the air along with the metal shrapnel of cannons. At the the same time, he caught the peek of numerous redcoats advancing around the slope of the smaller hill. He wheeled his horse and got ready to charge downwards in an effort to try to save the Patriots who were escaping from the sudden advancement of British troops. He could see some reforming their lines on the hill Washington occupied as the redcoats started to open fire. But even before he got two steps down, Ben saw a flash of a familiar hooded figure dressed in white and blue take down the back of the redcoat line.

“Connor!” he heard the Marquis called out behind him.

“So that's Connor,” Caleb said next to him, pulling on his horse's reigns.

“Aye, and we're going to help him-”

“Uh, I don't think he needs your help Benny-boy,” Caleb said almost at the same time. Whatever proclamation that they were going to help died on his lips at sight of Connor furiously cutting through the advancing British lines. It looked like a mad slaughter, but Connor's actions gave the Patriots more time to get to safety and reform their lines. Ben spurred his horse forward to meet the incoming men as they regrouped.

“Make ready!” he called out, raising his already bloodied sabre high up and saw the men glance at him before following his commands.

“Ben-” Caleb's call down a different forming firing line was filled with cautious hesitance; and while Ben knew that his best friend thought he was going to hit Connor with the firing line, he also knew the way the Assassin worked. He had seen him fight on several occasions now and knew Connor would anticipate what he was doing – at least that was the hope. There was always a chance, but Ben pushed all doubt from his mind.

“Aim,” he could see Connor's tomahawk flashing through the jaw of one redcoat and thought he caught the quick look the other man shot at him before he suddenly twisted and pulled a redcoat to shield his own body. “Fire!” Ben called out at the same time and the rifles discharged, hitting the rest of the redcoats who had been scattered by Connor's initial attack.

Screams filled the air as the platoon was completely cut down and Ben glanced down the line to see the Marquis also doing the same with another reformed line as did Caleb. The three platoons that had tried to take Washington's hill had been completely routed as the rest who had tried to advance turned their backs and marched away. Ben smiled at the sight as the men cheered around him. He saw Connor drop the body of the soldier he had used as cover from the returning fire. He started to smile in greeting before he realized that something was wrong. Connor was moving with the same predatory stalk that he had the dubious honor of seeing just a few weeks ago when he and his men had been attacked at their small camp by the Assassin.

Ben quickly dismounted and approached the Assassin with a hand held out, “Connor-”

“Get out of my way, Tallmadge,” Connor's voice was cold and hard and his normally expressive eyes were flinty with anger.

“Connor-” Ben found himself roughly shoved to the side before he could say anything else and stumbled on the uneven ground. “Connor!” he called out as he regained his footing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Marquis and Caleb both dismounting, having seen what had happened and were hurrying over.

“Where is General Lee?!” Connor demanded loudly as he approached Washington.

To Ben's relief, he saw the Lifeguard go instantly on alert, pushing Washington back as his General stared at the approaching Assassin with an unreadable look on his face.

“If you had heeded my warnings, then  _none_ of this would have happened!” Connor shouted as Ben sheathed his sword and approached the volatile Assassin. He needed to defuse this before the Lifeguard shot Connor. He also needed to calm the Assassin down before anything else happened. “Lee betrayed you! He was planning your downfall and yet you spare him?! Where is Lee?!”

“Connor-” Ben reached out with his hand and just as he clasped the other man's shoulder, every instinct screamed in warning. It was as if time had suddenly slowed down as he used his instincts and  _reacted_ at the same time Connor spun and struck with the quickness of a viper. He saw the silvery glint of Connor's hidden blade coming towards him and  _spun_ up the hillside they were on. Twisting around Connor's shoulder, heedless of the gaping concern of the others around the two of them, he drew out his pistol and pulled back on the flintlock just as the other man stumbled on the uneven ground. Time seemingly sped up again and Ben found himself with the advantage as he pointed the gun directly at Connor's head, their positions on the hill reversed from what was just mere seconds ago.

“Connor,” Ben could not believe that it had happened in less than a blink of an eye, but he found his voice and breath steady, “Stop. Please. Don't force me to fire this.”

There was a cornered look in Connor's eyes that Ben never knew were an golden-brown. This close, he could clearly see the features that made Connor a native as well as the features that were not so wholly native. He could see the tension of muscles, the look of a predator that was turned into prey, but at the same time, could see the anger and frustration on Connor's surprisingly youthful features. At the same time, Ben caught the glint of something under that golden-brown gaze...as if it was respect.

He realized with a start that Connor wanted to continue to question Washington, but clearly had respected the reversal of attacker and defender that had just happened. He also realized that it was not every day that one caught someone like Connor completely off guard...and if he was Achilles' student, it meant that he had extensive training – far more than he had from time-to-time with his father growing up. Connor was a seasoned hunter and Assassin who had the tables turned on him by someone who was as untrained as he was.

And Ben was suddenly terrified.

He refused to let it show, but he was terrified not of himself or his current position, but for what it meant to others to see Connor like this. As much as he did not support the Assassin Brotherhood or wanted any affiliation with them, he could not deny that they and the Templars, were a driving force behind this war. And it had to stop. But neither could he let Connor be seen by the Templars like this; not with his own ties to the Brotherhood. They needed to be strong...but they also needed to take their war elsewhere. Ben realized that this secret war had embroiled so many people that it need not to anymore.

The hidden blade sudden retracted with a quiet  _snikt_ and Ben pulled back, relieved to find that the Assassin was still willing to listen to reason. He lowered his pistol, but did not loosen the hammer in case it was all an act. He had learned too many hard lessons to know that the hearts of men in this war were deceptive and cruel. Though it hurt to think of Connor as one of the deceptive people he knew, he also knew him well enough as both an Assassin and as a person that anything less would have been considered both idiotic and insulting.

It seemed Connor thought the same as he saw the corner of his lips twitch up in a mirthless smile, “This is the second time I spare your life. It will be the last.” His gaze slid past him and he gave a mocking bow towards Washington. “Enjoy your victory, Commander, for it is the last I will give you,” the native said in a cold tone before walking away.

It was only then that Ben half-cocked his flintlock as he saw the Marquis rush down the hill past him and approach Connor, talking in low hush tones. He pursed his lips and shook his head.

“So, that's Connor, yeah?” Caleb asked as he glanced up to see him ambling down the hill, absently swinging what looked like one of Sackett's unusual looking pistols in his hand. He fiddled with the spring catch, letting the small bayonet shoot forth before retracting it by pushing it gingerly back with his hand. “Seems a bit...touchy...”

“He's a good man,” Ben absently said as he watched the Marquis and Connor continue talking, the Marquis apparently gesticulating for Connor to stay while the Assassin continued to walk.

“You wanna tell me about it?” Caleb asked and Ben heard the edge of a challenge in his voice.

“After we're sure the British are retreating and the battle won,” he replied as he turned away from Connor and the Marquis and headed back to his horse. Mounting it, he saw Caleb do the same with his. He turned his head to tip his helm at Washington who returned the gesture with one of his own as his Lifeguards resumed their watch around him. Together, he and Caleb headed back to where the rest of the 2 nd Continental Light Dragoons were with General Greene. He could not pay Connor anymore attention nor consider the Assassins as his allies. Not after the ambush, and certainly not after what had just happened. Connor had forced him to choose between the Assassins and Washington and he had chosen his side.

He could only hope it was a choice that did not end up with a blade in his heart courtesy of a native Assassin he once would have liked to have called a fellow ally.

 

~END~

 


	2. Treason - Letters Into the Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Directly after the events of Monmouth, Caleb confronts Ben for a long overdue conversation about the past and present events. Takes place right before the scene in Episode 10 where Ben encounters and leads Bradford into an ambush by Caleb.

“All right Ben, you wanna tell me what the hell is going on?” Ben could feel Caleb's intense gaze on him. He set down the letter that was from Abe's man inside New York named Robert Townsend.

He sighed as he pushed the letter towards the other end of the small table in his tent at Valley Forge. It did not move too far. He supposed he owed his best friend an explanation after what had happened on the ridge leading up to where Washington had been with the cannons forming a second defensive perimeter. The words he and Connor had exchanged had definitively broken whatever small bonds of friendship, of any hope of alliance between the two of them. It had also, in his opinion, severed any remnant bonds with the Brotherhood he had cultivated. It was technically what he always wanted and hoped that his father, when he received the news, would not be disappointed. It still did not stop the disquieting feeling of severance within him.

“I've been patient, I've been quiet, but hearing that, that _savage injun'_ try to kill ya before? Excuse me, no,” Caleb said heatedly as he shook his head, “I should have shot him, just like I should have shot Simcoe-”

“No,” Ben shook his head as he finally met Caleb's gaze and saw his brow crinkle. It was still odd seeing him without his beard, but he supposed he was growing it back judging by the scruff he had going already. He wasn't feeling charitable enough to correct Caleb on the derogatory term for Connor.

“No?!” Caleb's eyebrows rose, “Ben-”

“Connor would have easily killed you before you could have fired at him,” he said. He neglected to mention that there was the occasional unusual green glow that surrounded Connor when he was cutting through the redcoats. It was as if something was repelling rounds and other metal objects away from him. It was only the saving grace of whatever remnants was left of their fledgling friendship that had gotten Connor to back down and leave without incident. Otherwise, Ben did not know what would happen to the ball he fired at point-blank range. Just as well, considering that Connor had drawn his small hidden blade and was also pointing it at his throat.

“Well, just because he went through those bloody-backs like wet parchment-”

“It's exactly that,” Ben rubbed his face tiredly, “Connor is a trained Assassin. And I mean one of those Assassins and an assassin itself.”

“So?”

“They are trained from a very young age, almost the same time as they can walk,” Ben started as he rubbed his eyes and stared at nothing in particular, “in the arts of stealthiness, crawling through trees, paths, to be unassuming amongst all walks of life. That is how they can slip in and out. They are trained to be fast, quick with the blade, and sure with the gun. Some prefer weapons of a certain kind, daggers, tomahawks, some have a better skill with firearms or even with poisons.

“We try to have a normal childhood back then, because the Templars were hunting us. So training had to be in secret, like a game. Some were trained in the basics, but then sent for different types of further education. Connor was trained to be a warrior, and it is probably in more part because of his native roots. He moves with the skill of a predator on a hunt and has lightning reflexes that made him so effective against the Templars these last few years.”

“Templars,” Caleb's voice was flat and Ben looked up at him to see him staring at him with a look of disbelief on his face, “as in Knights Templar Order back in the Crusades? Are you shitting me?”

“Caleb-”

“And what the hell is this about normal childhoods and games? Are you one of them? One of these...Assassins? Is Connor one of your friends that you randomly meet and then watch him kill a bunch of lobster-backs like they were nothing?!” there was something in his best friend's expression that warred between being frightened, yet excited. Ben's gut twisted painfully. He did not want his friend to find out like this. Caleb was fearless. Caleb was the voice of reason and the stalwart one between the two of them.

“No, I'm not one,” he shook his head as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “my father was though...”

The former whaler blinked and sat back, nearly falling over in his chair, “What?! Old Man Reverend Tallmadge was one of those Assassins? Killed like Connor back there?!”

“I...don't know...” he replied, “my father...never really talked much about his work for the Assassin Brotherhood during the Seven Years War and beyond that. But I would presume so, though I guess many of them came from the barrel of his rifle.” He had never found any evidence that his father wore a hidden blade like Connor did, but he had seen glints of one on one of Achilles' arms and supposed that it was a way of identifying those who were part of the Brotherhood. His father must have put his away after he had gone into hiding and became a Reverend.

“Holy...Reverend Tallmadge...and you're not?”

“I'm not,” he tried to smile faintly at Caleb's question, but did not succeed, “I...knew about my father's Assassin ties, but didn't really know about it until more recently. All I knew was that it took him away from Samuel and I for a long time and I didn't want that...I wanted...well, I hope to have a family someday, after all of this is over. I...don't want my children to feel as abandoned as Samuel and I did growing up.” He pressed his lips together as he looked away, unwilling to meet Caleb's sympathetic look.

“Well,” Caleb cleared his throat a little bit after a moment of awkward silence, “certainly explains about you and Sammy-boy. How you two were able to get away with certain things like climbing trees and rooftops while the rest of our parents were all up in arms about it.”

Ben snorted quietly and nodded. He wondered if he should tell Caleb about Samuel being an Assassin, but decided against it as out of the corner of his eye, he saw him rock back a little, clapping his hands on his legs.

“So, that little showdown back there-”

“I thought about using the Assassin Brotherhood to help Abe and Anna in New York, but it seems Connor's goals of ending General Lee and a fallout with Washington wasn't a means to an end,” he shook his head. He dared not tell Caleb about the fact that Connor had insisted that Washington had burned his village a long time ago.

“Ending Lee, huh?” his best friend rubbed his chin, a slight scratching noise filling the tent, “would be pretty handy.”

“It would, but I think General Washington has other plans for him,” he had not seen any sign of Charles Lee since they had all returned to camp. He did catch a glimpse of William Bradford who looked like he was looking for a drink upon their return. Ben flicked an absent finger at the letter that had both the sympathetic ink and what looked like to be a bill on it. “Bradford's still a threat...”

“Yeah, along with a couple of other names on there. Mentions an assassin, but not a name. Though it might have been Connor, especially with what happened back there, but you're saying he hates Lee?”

“Tipped me off to Lee being a Templar, but this confirms what's more than likely a Templar conspiracy to replace or kill Washington and put their man in charge of the Continentals. Maybe even surrender to the British since Lee's a confirmed traitor,” he picked up the paper by its edge and glanced at the quick lines and strokes that denoted Townsend's hand writing.

“Knights Templar...” Caleb's voice sounded a little faint and Ben gave him a wry sideways smile.

“Nothing so special about them except they work in the shadows like the Assassins. The only comparable thing is that they're lending their services to the British,” he shrugged, “makes me wonder if their Head of Intelligence, Major John Andre is one of them.”

“Sending assassins like the Assassins being assassins is their thing?” Caleb asked.

“I don't know,” Ben replied, “but it could be true.” The fact that he had been targeted, or rather indirectly targeted, by Templars disguised as Queen's Rangers back in Wethersfield told him that the Templars were not above adopting the Brotherhood's own techniques against them.

“They got a goal?”

“I honestly do not know,” he said, “all I know is that Connor confirmed that Charles Lee is a Templar and is a traitor to the Patriots, so maybe the Templars are against American independence.”

“And they want Washington dead, if Bradford's name on that list is any indication,” Caleb gestured with a couple of fingers to the paper he was holding.

“Bradford could be by association,” he cautioned, but even that felt like a lie in his own mind. There was no way that Bradford was not considered a Templar. The man practically followed in Lee's coattails and heels. It was he who had suggested a majority of the battle plan that Washington had approved of according to Billy Lee's words to him.

“Still, gotta catch the bastard,” Caleb gave him a toothy smile and Ben looked at him.

“You have a plan,” he stated and his best friend nodded.

“I've got a plan, and you're going to love it,” he reached over and patted him on his shoulder, “and since I'm such a nice guy and want to thank you for sharing this bit of information, I'm letting you punch him first before I sock him.”

Ben laughed, a weight of relief lifting off of him at Caleb's words. He was glad that Caleb took his explanation in stride and did not pry further into the past he had completely segregated himself from. He only hoped that Washington would accept it the same once he talked with him. Because there he did not missed the fact that Washington and Lafayette were staring at him and Connor in their confrontation.

 

~END~

 


	3. Plot - Family Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate scene concerning the plot to assassinate Washington in the closing moments of Episode 10 'Gunpowder, Treason, and Plot.” The plot to assassinate Washington takes a far more dangerous turn as traitors and hidden allegiances are revealed.

Ben's grip on his cavalry sword was tight as he quickly headed towards Washington's tent behind the farmhouse. He trusted Caleb to properly secure Bradford in the small wooden cabin that had designated to use as a makeshift prison. Ben was glad that the victory gained today on the battlefield had made most of the men oblivious to what was happening inside the camp. They did not need to know of this latest attempt or conspiracy on Washington's life.

The list he had in his pocket would condemn each man to the fate of a traitor and he already had the excuse ready for their eventual hanging. The only thing that worried him was the fact that Townsend had only mentioned that there was an actual assassin lurking in the camp, and it was someone within Washington's inner circle. Ben already had his own ideas on how to expose the assassin, but he needed to be extremely careful. The last time something like this had happened, it had cost Nathaniel Sackett his life. Ben was determined not to let that happen again.

He stopped short before two of Washington's Lifeguards. “I need to speak with the General,” he said quietly and urgently. While he was glad that Liam had taken up his posting outside Washington's door with the gravity and seriousness of his title, he hoped that maybe at least their former familiarity with each other would allow him to pass unhindered.

“Sorry, the General is occupied,” Ben's face almost fell at the news Liam gave him.

“It's urgent,” he was about to say more when the tent flap opened slightly and Billy Lee's face appeared.

“The General wishes to see Major Tallmadge,” Billy glanced at the two Lifeguards who nodded and stepped to the side to allow him through.

Ben shot him a quick smile as he entered and let the flap close behind him. He saw Billy stand by Washington's side, his expression oddly flat before Ben noticed that there was another person in the tent besides the three of them. It was an older looking man, perhaps just a few years older than Washington himself, with the most benign expression on his face. But Ben somehow knew that the benign expression was anything but, and the niggling sense he had relied on told him that the man was dangerous. However, Ben could not visually discern anything from the other man that prickled the wariness in him. He glanced over at his Commander-in-Chief to see if he was under duress, but found no sign of it. Only Billy seemed to acknowledge the man with the flattest look possible, so Ben decided to follow Washington's lead. If the Lifeguard had allowed the man to enter the tent and Washington did not seem to mind his presence, then the mystery of the man was not for him to solve.

Still, he took a moment to study the man, wondering if he was going to comment on his arrival. Was the mysterious man a part of the French delegation or even part of the Baron's retinue? Ben did not know, but the man did not seem to align with either foreign force in the army. In fact, he seemed to be a member of the gentry class in colonies, perhaps a merchant or someone who could afford the finer dark fabrics and cut of cloth he wore. There was also something oddly familiar about him, but Ben could not quite place where he could have seen the man's features before.

He saw the other man shift a little, meeting his gaze with a bland look of his own before turning away, seemingly engrossed with looking around the tent. It seemed Washington's visitor would not introduce himself and so Ben decided to pretend to ignore his presence in the tent.

“General,” he greeted his Commander instead, a little puzzled as to why Washington was not celebrating his victory with a drink, but rather was pouring over more maps and documents on his war table. “Congratulations on your first victory of the year,” he said as Washington flicked a quick look at him before writing something down on a piece of paper. Ben realized that it was a report to Congress on what had happened at Monmouth.

“It was the obvious victory and in the most forgiving sense of the word,” Washington murmured, scratching a few more words with his quill. Ben knew that he was referring to both the fact that they had held out against the British lines until the sun had set as well as Connor's handling of the lower cannons to push back against the British lines until the sun had waned enough to blinded the incoming British forces.

Still Ben felt like he needed Washington to at least understand what had transpired, “We turned them, sir, we saw their backs. And that's something that they will not soon forget, and neither would we.”

“A symbolic victory then,” Washington conceded and Ben knew that it was the best he would get out of his Commander.

Instead, he drew himself up and cleared his throat lightly, “Your Excellency, there is something I need to ask you.”

“How long did I know of General Lee's communication with the enemy,” Washington's quill stopped scratching across the paper as he stared at nothing in particular. A second later, he met his gaze and a small smile blossomed on the corner of his lips, “Ever since you delivered 355's report.”

Ben stared, confused as to why Washington had not acted on the intelligence delivered that early and instead waited for so long. His unspoken question must have shown on his face as Washington acknowledged it with the slight tilt of his head.

“I had to wait for the most opportune time,” his General said quietly, “better to be court martialed as a failure than as a traitor.”

Echoes of their previous conversations, of what Washington had been trying to tell him without being forthright or overt flashed through Ben's head as he rocked back on his heels. He finally understood how close Washington had been watching Lee, had been monitoring him – and unlike his own fumbling foolish actions, he had tried to steer Lee in a way to show the rest of the army that he was a failing commander, not an outright traitor. Washington had been right – army morale would have surely suffered if Lee had been exposed as a traitor, but morale had been greatly improved when Washington himself had both secured a victory and placed the blame of a ill-conceived retreat at Lee's feet. He had essentially turned the tables on Lee after being disparaged for so long; and had done so quite effectively.

Ben flicked a quick look at the other man in the room, but he showed no outward expression, except now he saw the man's hawkish gaze on them, evaluating almost calculating. The fact that Washington had spoken so plainly told him that the man knew everything that was said at this very moment. Ben briefly wondered if the man was another spy of sorts, perhaps an attaché or someone that Washington had used to gather further intelligence. It was not that he was not jealous, though he did quickly suppress the flare that erupted at his own thoughts. Considering his own efforts to create a new line of intelligence through Connor besides Culper, he wondered if the man was being used in the same manner for Washington.

Ben turned back to his General, “What will happen to General Lee?” He had no doubts that Washington had heard Connor's request regarding Lee, but he still did not know of the relationship between his Commander-in-Chief and the native Assassin. They certainly had met or even had talked during the few months he was not at Valley Forge, but what had been discussed or said had been disclosed to him.

“Congress will present evidence at his trial and he will be stripped of his rank,” Washington explained before he finally turned and nodded in the other man's direction, “I have it on this gentleman's authority that Lee will be safely kept away from British influences or their command staff for the duration of this war, however long it may take. Charles Lee's fate is sealed; he will never command any force for the Continentals nor divulge our plans to the British.”

Ben turned his head to look at the older man who finally stepped away from his corner and approached them. His arms were hanging loosely by his side, but Ben noted to some degree of alarm that the man _moved_ with the languid grace of a predator. In fact, it looked eerily similar to how he had seen Connor and even Duncan move. Was this man a part of the Assassin Brotherhood? But something else in him told him to be extremely cautious, even more so than when he was around Connor. This man was _very_ dangerous.

“Haytham Kenway, at your service,” the older man introduced himself and Ben reluctantly shook hands with him. The fact that he did not introduce himself with any titles or allegiances made him wonder why Washington trusted the man.

“Major Benjamin Tallmadge,” he replied, noting the firm grip the other man had. It was surprisingly still strong, even though he could feel the numerous callouses and puckered flesh that was indicative of scarring. The man must have seen a lot of battles and hardship. He let go of the other man's hand, “If I may, sir, it is highly unusual for a civilian to be involved in such matters...”

Kenway chuckled lightly, though Ben caught the hint of a dark edge in that laugh as he nodded in Washington's direction, “Your man is a very sharp one, General. I can see now as to why Charles failed on so many fronts.” He turned back, “Is it not so unusual to have someone like Nathaniel Sackett as a civilian consultant? No, I am here per a special request from the General.”

“Special request,” one of Ben's eyebrows lifted up in speculation.

“It was made long before any of this, when I took over the organization after General Washington's older brother passed away-”

“That's _enough_ , Master Kenway,” Washington suddenly spoke up and Ben glanced down to see his Commander-in-Chief with a hard and angry look on his face as he glared up at the other man.

“Really?” Kenway suddenly hissed at Washington and Ben felt his hackles rise, “because I do not _think_ for one minute that Connor gave you your victories and this man here gave you the proper intelligence for you to even _continue_ to be in command! They should have been Charles and now you're trying to protect him?!” Kenway jabbed a finger towards Ben and he nearly flinched, but froze in place as he caught the familiar glint of metal and contraption under the man's arm, covered by layers of clothing. There was a hidden blade there.

Washington suddenly stood up, his eyes filled with fury as he stared at Kenway who had an equally ugly expression on his face. “You have already done enough, Master Kenway. I have asked you here per _your_ request in keeping Charles alive instead of having me hand him over to the young native who so desperately wishes him dead that I am inclined to give him that.”

“If only to curry favor broken by your idiocy in your youth by burning his village!” there was something in Kenway's voice that rumbled with a long hurt, as if he was still nursing an old wound.

“I can still easily renege on our agreement, Master Kenway,” Washington replied icily, “I can and I still will.”

Something flickered in Kenway's expression before a slow smile worked its way up his face. “I wondered, had your brother Lawrence petitioned Grand Master Birch long ago to appoint you as his successor, would things have turned out differently?” he mused, “what a fine Templar you would have made-”

“Get out,” Washington suddenly interrupted and pointed to the tent flap, “get out before I have you _thrown_ out. I never wish to see you here again _Grand Master_ Kenway. Take your war with the Assassins elsewhere. These United States of America are not for your ilk or kind to play with.”

There was an unkind smile on Kenway's face as he bowed his head once before walking out of the tent. Ben watched him go until the flap closed behind him before he released a breath he did not realize he had been holding. At the same time, he could feel the bones in his hands creak and forcibly relaxed the grip on the hilt of his sword he had almost drawn in the middle of all of that. He turned back and saw his that his Commander-in-Chief was staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. At the same time, the words that Kenway had said finally registered and Ben could only stare in return. Washington...had Templar-ties? Was or currently was a Templar? His older brother had been the _Grand Master_?!

Ben's breath stuttered a little as he realized he had literally just shook hands with the _current_ Grand Master of the Templar Order. Whom, if he was not mistaken, was wearing a hidden blade much like the ones those of the Assassin Brotherhood wore. A thousand questions flitted across his mind, but he found that he could give no voice to any as the General stared at him with a measured look.

“Your silence is commendable,” Washington finally spoke up, his voice quiet and precise as he slowly sat back down and picked up his quill again.

“I... Sir, I...” Ben started, but still found his words lodged in his throat. He did not know _what_ to say. What could he say? He did not want to tell Washington about his own Assassin connections through his father, that he knew Connor and it was because of that the confrontation on the ridge could have been a lot worst? That his Commander-in-Chief was a Templar? Had the same affiliations and connections as he did to the two groups that had been literally at war with one another for _hundreds_ if not perhaps thousands of years?!

“I was made aware of certain factions that sought to turn this war for independence into a war of ideologies a few years ago,” Washington interrupted him quietly as he absently dipped his quill into his ink well several times. “I had long known before that due to my brother's...other dealings, business ones as well as ones that he sought to exclude me from, of the faction that called themselves the Knights Templar.”

Ben could only swallow heavily as Washington set his quill down into the ink well and sat back, staring up at him.

“The opportunity was there,” his Commander-in-Chief said almost candidly, “but...events and perhaps a healthy dose of politics as always precluded the lack of my involvement with the Templars.”

“Sir...”

“Nathaniel Sackett was a member of the Assassin Brotherhood as I recall,” Washington suddenly sat forward, staring up at him, “and knew of my affiliation with the Templars. Normally, when such events happen, mortal enemies do not seek out sanctuary from the group determined to hunt them down.”

“S-Sackett...” Ben knew from Achilles that Sackett was a part of the Brotherhood, but to hear it from Washington himself, and to learn that Sackett already knew about Washington's ties to the Templars, it shocked him. Sackett had not randomly sought out Washington's help, nor did Washington seek out Sackett's. It must have been part of a mutually beneficial agreement between the two of them. It certainly explained why Sackett had been there the first time he had met General Washington and why his General had insisted on Sackett's input into the formation of their spy network.

“After your words to me regarding the trust of keeping secrets from everyone when we first met, I inquired deeper into your family and background, Major,” Washington explained, his gaze steady, “because it is always a curiosity to see what has excited Mr. Sackett so that was about you.”

“Y-You-”

“My initial inquiry was supplemented by the arrival of a young native to whom I had previously witnessed save my life from what was surely the gun of an assassin at Bridewell Prison,” Washington continued, cutting easily into his faint words as if he had never spoken them at all.

“Connor...” Ben breathed out and Washington nodded. “Sir, I-I do not have any official affiliation with the Brotherhood- My father was part of them, but I do not-”

“You need not defend yourself to me, Benjamin,” Washington smiled faintly at him, “I merely wished to clear the air between us. And I will confess freely that I wished for your presence to here to prove to the current Grand Master of the Templars that their war with the Assassins is for naught as proof of our collaboration.”

“...Oh...” Ben blinked.

He did not know what to say after that. It certainly made for ironic sense that two people with family ties between the two long warring factions were able to work together in mostly harmonic fashion for a common cause. Part of what Washington had said earlier registered with him as he wet his lips, “Sir, you wish me to convey the information regarding General Lee to Connor?”

“If he requests it,” there was a faint twinkle of approval in Washington's eyes and Ben felt warmed by it. Though he did not voice it, he wondered if allowing him to convey the fact that Master Kenway was to preside over Lee's imprisonment was his Commander-in-Chief's subtle way of telling the Templars to go away. It would seem so judging by how Washington had all but ordered Kenway out of his tent. The message could not be clearer than that – Washington wanted nothing to do with the Templars or Assassins in this War for Independence; and telling the two chief instigators, Kenway and Connor, was sure enough of a message.

And Ben found himself wholeheartedly approving of such a message. It was better to have a clearer sense of the enemy than to have one who might have been on the Patriots side, but was associated with the Templars and by default, the British – like Charles Lee. The only problem left now was to root out the rest of those who might be Templars, but were definitely associated with Lee. Ben mentally squared his shoulders and took the metaphoric step forward, much surer of the intelligence Caleb had given to him from Abe.

“Sir,” he started as he produced the small folded paper that was written by Robert Townsend, “it is with the interest of renewed trust that I present this piece of intelligence that I received from Culper's contact in New York. His name is Robert Townsend and we've already named him Culper Jr.” He handed over the folded piece of paper to Washington's great interest as he stood up and took it.

“It speaks of a plot against your life, sir,” Ben continued before looking at Billy as Washington hastily opened the note and started to read, “Billy, if you could call in the Lifeguard and his aide-de-camps?”

He saw Billy flick a look at Washington who absently nodded before the manservant went to call in the Lifeguards and Washington's aide-de-camps. They were the only ones that Ben knew were intrinsically part of his inner circle. He did not know which one was the assassin, but he was determined to root the man out. He knew that Washington had other advisers, but they were his war advisers, not ones who handled his correspondences, helped him with the day-to-day running of an army nor protected him with their life. One of them was a traitor and assassin and Ben would be damned if they ended up succeeding in their mission to kill Washington.

As Washington continued to read the missive, Ben saw Alexander Hamilton and John Laurens step into the tent, both a little rosy in the cheeks, having been celebrating the victory. A few seconds later the Marquis de Lafayette wandered in, a little more red in the cheeks, but eyes bright with awareness. Washington's Lifeguards, McPhearson and Liam stepped in after the Marquis followed by Billy who nodded to him as he resumed his position behind Washington. As much as it pained Ben, he did not discount Billy's possible involvement in the plot against Washington's life. However, he also reasoned that if it was Billy who was the assassin, then he would have already struck in the numerous times since the plot had been hatched.

After all of his missteps in the past few months, he was determined to prove to Washington that he was a competent of an intelligence officer that his Commander-in-Chief thought he was.

“I brought you all here tonight because of a plot against the Commander's life,” he started quietly, staring at each man's face, keeping his own decidedly neutral. “Now we've captured one of the instigators and are holding him-”

“Who?!” Washington demanded, looking up from the missive.

“It's Lee's man, William Bradford,” he said, his eyes flicking quickly to the others to gauge their reaction before turning back to Washington.

“Where are you holding him?” Ben held up a hand and shook his head to stop his General from taking more than few steps forward.

“Sir, for your own safety, I can't allow you to leave your tent,” he said before gesturing to the others assembled, “I was hoping for one of your more trusted men to quietly fetch Bradford here so we can question him-”

“I'll go,” Ben managed to keep himself from flinching or freezing at the sound of Liam's voice volunteering for the duty.

It couldn't be Liam...it just couldn't be. He only managed to just nod at the younger man's eagerness. At the same time, he saw Washington also nod his assent before Liam left the tent. Ben felt shaken, that it was _Liam_ of all people who was the assassin. What had happened? How did the young man whom he remembered occasionally teaching lessons to in Wethersfield become part of this cabal? This madness? Ben knew that his plan was not entirely foolproof – there was a chance that Liam was lying and that the real traitor was still in the tent, so Ben kept silent as Washington went back to reading the missive.

He looked at the others, wondering if one of them was the true traitor and not Liam. McPhearson had not been part of the 2nd Light, but had been part of Washington's old guard from the troops he commanded in Boston. He did not know John Laurens very well, but Alexander Hamilton was known to him. The man certainly knew about Connor as did the Marquis de Lafayette. Ben mentally filed the Marquis as the person least likely to betray Washington, considering his friendship with Connor and helpfulness. Plus, France was an ally of them – the Marquis would not do anything to jeopardize it, not after everything they had gone through.

That left Billy Lee. But as Ben pretended to stare around the tent while studying Billy, he could find no fault with the negro. Billy had also been there and he specifically remembered Billy saying that Connor had sought him out to speak to Washington. There was a chance that it was coincidence, after all, Billy was easily accessible in terms of getting an audience with Washington. But in light of Kenway's departure just a little over a half-hour ago, it seemed that Billy seemed more relaxed in Washington's presence instead of having a flat pinched look on his face.

His current mental list had Laurens and McPhearson on the top, if only because he did not know either men that well. He considered outright questioning them right then and there, but before he could do anything, there was the rustling of the tent flap and Caleb walked in. He caught his best friend's gaze and saw him nod once. All thoughts of Liam _not_ being the traitor fled from Ben's mind.

Liam _was_ the traitor.

“Sir,” Caleb greeted Washington and nodded to the others before addressing Ben, “he's secure.”

Ben pressed his lips together in despair and anger as he nodded tightly.

At the same time, he saw Washington nod to the others gathered around, “Make sure.”

McPhearson, Billy, Laurens, and Hamilton all left, leaving the Marquis who paused by the tent flap, peering out to watch his colleagues leave. “Marquis?” Ben asked and the Frenchman turned back to look at them.

“Connor spoke of a plot against you before he left the battlefield. It is partially why I ordered a retreat of my forces from the lower ridge; to ensure your safety after Lee's failure in commanding. The Major's actions only confirmed that there are assassins in this camp. If it would please you, Your Excellency, I would stand guard as your other men ensure that the assassin is secured along with Colonel Bradford,” the Marquis had a steady look on his youthful face that belied his usual bright and cheerful demeanor.

“Thank you,” Washington said gratefully before turning to the two of them, “so, Corporal Liam Griffith.”

“It would seem so,” Ben replied quietly, “now Liam and Bradford can be brought up on other charges, like forgery, and both can hang without anyone knowing better.” He saw Washington nod his assent at his thoroughness. However, he almost could not speak his next words, but forced himself to, “I apologize, sir, for allowing him to become part of your Lifeguard. It is my own failure to recognize the treachery within my own command-”

“Thank you,” Washington interrupted him with a kind smile, “Benjamin.”

“Uh, y-you're welcome, Your Excellency,” Ben was taken aback at his words before gesturing to Caleb, “actually, it was Townsend and Caleb's doing-”

“And Woody, er, Woodhull, sir,” Caleb corrected him.

Washington merely nodded with the same warm expression that seemingly suffused a bright spot within him, “So, Sir 721, do you trust the integrity of the Culper Ring?”

Ben could hear the undercurrent of ' _Do you trust me even though I have ties with the Templars to your ties with the Assassin's?_ ' and understood what Washington was asking of him. Did the trust between the two of them, having been so thoroughly tested in the past few months, still resided in each other? Did the secrets exposed plunge them into the traditional antagonistic roles that they both apparently tried so hard to pull away from? To not let such roles as Templar or Assassin define them even though neither one of them were ever initiated or inducted into their respective Orders?

“With my life,” Ben answered honestly, “and with yours.” He made sure that Washington could see that with what had happened did not affect his commitment to both the Culper Ring and being Washington's Head of Intelligence. He would always be ready to do his duty for his Commander-in-Chief, Templar-ties or not. He believed in him and was glad to see that his faith had been rewarded with such quiet praise and trust. Washington believed in him and Ben finally understood the lesson he had been taught regarding Charles Lee. It was better this way, to ensure that there was no division within the ranks of the Continentals, as well as ensuring that the Templars and Assassins' on-going war did not embroil America's fight for independence. Though the damage had been done, the fact that they had removed a significant component in the Templar's schemes to affect this war, Ben was confident that neither the Templars nor Assassins would gain the upper-hand and thus take their war with each other elsewhere.

He knew that the Culper Ring and his work in ferreting out intelligence for his Commander-in-Chief would always have the potential of being influenced by the shadowy powers behind the war for independence, but it was a risk he was willing to take. And judging by the pleased expression on Washington's face, he too, was willing to take that risk.

“Then we are in agreement, Major,” Washington replied and looked to say more except for the sudden frown that appeared on his face. He looked beyond him and Ben and Caleb both turned to see the Marquis step out before suddenly stepping in and holding the tent flap open.

Ben could not help the small gasp of surprise that escaped his lips at the sight of Billy entering, blood covering parts of his jacket and arms. But what was truly surprising was the fact that on one of Billy's arms, covered in a small amount of blood was a hidden blade that had not been sheathed. Billy wore a hidden blade...

“Sir,” the negro looked out of breath, “he's escaped. Had help. Was ambushed- Mr. Laurens was rushed to the house by Hamilton and McPhearson. He's calling for a surgeon-”

“Which way?!”

“Bradford?!” Washington demanded the same time as he did.

“Unharmed. Corporal Griffith ran towards the stables-” Billy started, but Ben pushed past him and ran towards the stables nearest to where he and Caleb had kept Bradford as a prisoner. “Major!” he heard Billy and the Marquis call out as he skidded to a stop, Caleb nearly colliding behind him.

Ben watched as two horses galloped out of the stables bearing their riders with all haste. He thought he caught the glimpse of Liam's face amongst the two, but the other rider had a neckerchief covering half of his face, as if he did not want to be identified.

“Liam! Stop!” he shouted as they rode past, startling a few revelers who were stumbling around half-drunk. Ben realized that there was no way Liam nor his mysterious rescuer were going to stop. They were deserting, if not outright escaping. “Liam!”

“Ben, come on! We can still get the horses and catch them-”

“Give me your musket,” Ben ignored Caleb's pleas and grabbed the nearest musket on the Continental that had been wandering by, puzzled as to what was going on.

“S-Sir!” the soldier was startled as Ben roughly pulled the musket from his hands, pulling the flintlock back as he sighted down the barrel.

“Ben that's over one-hundred yards-”

Ben ignored whatever Caleb was about to say as he focused everything he had down the barrel of his borrowed musket. All of the lessons he had learned when he had been younger, the feeling he knew helped saved his life time after time, all of it focused on the very moment of just _willing_ the ball to hit Liam at least. To stop him from escaping with his knowledge and make a second attempt on his General's life. The distance was great, far greater than he knew what the musket was capable of, but Ben knew that there was no other choice. With a rifle, he knew he could accurately make the shot; with this musket, his accuracy was greatly reduced. He took a deep breath and _focused_.

And fired.

Ben silently cursed as his shot _missed_ and hit the other rider instead, toppling him from his horse. Liam continued on with only a quick and anguished look behind before pushing his horse go faster. They disappeared around a bend as the guards on duty rushed to where the fallen rider was lying on the ground. The man's horse had skidded to a stop and Ben saw one of the guards run up and hold the beast by its bridle.

“Jesus, Benny-boy...” Caleb breathed out and Ben caught the hint of awe in his voice, but ignored it. He shoved the borrowed musket back into the soldier's hands and started to walk to where the rider had fallen.

“Hold that man!” he shouted to the guards that were crowding around the fallen rider as he approached. He could see a few of them flip the rider over, muskets and pistols pointed downwards. A few looked up at his approach and parted to allow him through. Ben immediately saw that his shot had been a mortal wound, the dark spot on the pristine white of the man's uniform front growing on his chest.

To his dismay, he saw that the man was wearing the colors of a dragoon, blue and gold. Whomever had helped Liam had been more than likely one of his own men. Ben heard the man give a wet cough and reached down to rip away the neckerchief that had covered half of his face. Ben's heart fell again at the sight of Alexander Mayfield with blood splattered across his chin as he coughed again. He should have known...

He pressed his lips together and knelt down next to Mayfield as he heard Caleb whisper an oath above him at the sight. “Why?” he asked the dying man, “Why did you do it? Why you...why Liam?”

Alexander smiled, his teeth stained with blood, “You wouldn't...understand...sir...”

“Help me understand,” he pleaded with the younger man, “...please.”

Mayfield coughed, his breath coming in quick and fast, “Bradford...wanted you dead...sir. Wethersfield. Thought...you...a threat...to Lee...and the Templars...” He took a shuddering breath before just as suddenly, his body stilled. A bubble of blood popped from his half-opened mouth, the taken breath leaving him just as quickly, as his eyes stared lifelessly up at the night sky.

Ben stood up on heavy legs as he stared at Alexander's body, unable to turn away from it. He still did not know what had made Liam and Alexander join the Templars - or perhaps they had been part of the Templars all along.  He had taught them Wethersfield, had watched them grow into fine young men.  But what the younger man had revealed opened up a deep sense of disquiet within him.

His father had been wrong. The Templars dressed as Queen's Rangers that day in Wethersfield had not been targeting his father or Achilles, but rather had been targeting him all along. It seemed that none of them knew of his Assassin ties, but had targeted him like any other civilian. The thought did not bring any comfort to him, nor did it make him feel any more relieved to find out what had really happened in Wethersfield. It certainly made more sense – Liam had been the look-out and Alexander was more than likely the one who had knocked out Duncan in the burning building. Then the two had been tasked by Welles and Ames to hold John Davenport's family hostage while he was to be taken out. Except he had not known that key information when he had rushed to the tavern and found the two there.

Alexander's last confession had certainly proven that Bradford had Templar ties and it was further proof that the Templars wanted to control the war. It had also proven that they would do anything in their power to eliminate those that opposed them, allies or not. It was a small comfort to him to know that the Assassins lived by a creed of sorts and that one of the tenets in the creed was to stay the blade from the flesh of an innocent. The Templars had no such creed and did anything and everything in their power to control what they wished to control.

His only saving grace was that Liam would more than likely never show his face in the Continentals ever again. And here his accomplice in his escape laid dead at his feet. Ben turned, unwilling to even consider the potential that there were others in the 2nd Light that were Templars or had ties to the order. He could not fall into that paranoia that his father had warned him about, could not allow himself to suspect and jump at every shadow. He needed to be in control, be an effective Head of Intelligence because he had _just_ regained the trust of his General and he would be damned if he lost it because he suspected everyone and everything.

He brushed past Caleb, refusing to meet his eyes. He did not want to know what his friend thought about the fact that he had been a target. He started to head towards Washington's tent, but stopped as he saw the Marquis wave at him from the front of the farmhouse. Washington must have entered already, more than likely checking on John Laurens' condition.

“Sir,” he greeted the Marquis who patted him gently on the arm.

“A fine shot, Major,” the Marquis said quietly, “'twas a pity you did not have two available. The General is inside and is awaiting your report. I am pleased to say that Mr. Laurens will recover.”

“That's good to hear,” Ben felt a little more cheered at the news as he entered, Caleb and the Marquis following behind him. He saw that Sergeant McPhearson had taken his post outside the door that Washington normally used as his office and nodded a greeting to the Lifeguard who nodded back. Blood was still splattered across parts of the man's uniform, but he looked unharmed.

Ben entered and saw Washington standing near the fireplace, staring at the small flames as if it held the secrets of the world. In the corner of the room was Billy who had his hands clasped behind him.

“Sir,” Ben said as Washington looked up and gestured for the others to come in. He stepped to the side as Caleb and the Marquis also entered, the door closing behind them.

“Sir,” Caleb echoed quietly.

“Corporal Griffith escaped sir,” Ben reported, “but his accomplice, Private Alexander Mayfield was captured. Unfortunately he succumbed to his wounds.”

“Did he say anything before he passed?” Washington asked and Ben nodded.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. When he had initially wrote his report to Washington regarding troop readiness in Boston, he had not included anything of what had happened in Wethersfield except for a brief mention of Davenport and Henry dying but with no details. It would have only been recorded on troop records to ensure that the men had not deserted and their widows and families had the accordance of pay for their services to the cause.

“It seems that both Alexander and Liam were part of the Templars under Colonel Bradford. They were part of a plot to stage an ambush and eliminate those they thought were either a hindrance to their plans or would weaken your position in the eyes of the Continentals.” It was not exactly the truth, but Ben would be damned if he actually outright told Washington, of all people, that it was _he_ who had been targeted. His commander did not need to know as Ben considered himself only a deliverer of messages from Abe. Abe was the far more important one. His position could be easily replaced if he was killed – Caleb would be a good choice as his replacement. Washington had even threatened that he recommend a new Head of Intelligence when he had stumbled the few weeks before Sackett had been killed.

Silence reigned in the room save the crackle and pop of the small fire in the fireplace. It made the already stifling room a little hotter, but Ben kept his gaze steady on his Commander-in-Chief.

“Leave us,” Washington suddenly said as he looked at Ben, his unspoken command for him to stay, making him suddenly nervous. Ben heard the door open and several people making their way out, including Billy who closed the door behind him.

Silence filled the room once more and seemed to drag on for eternity before Washington finally spoke. “You were the target, were you not?” his General asked with an unreadable look on his face.

Ben hesitated for a second before nodding, “Yes.”

“When?”

“On our way back from Boston, sir. Wethersfield. John Davenport and Henry Adamson died in the effort to stop two assassins who were dressed in Queen's Rangers colors. Liam and Alexander must have given them our route home,” Ben replied, “sir, I can see that those under my command are not to be trusted and therefore my word cannot be trusted-”

“Who said anything about that?” Washington interrupted him with a dark look before sitting down at his table. “Your trust is what I value the most. You initially think to come to me with the whispers of those in camp and treason spoken behind my back. Now you think to hide the fact that _you_ , of all people are also a target will benefit me?!”

“Sir-”

“The Culper Ring can only succeed if it is a secret. That secret can only be shared by those whom trust is of the highest order,” Washington looked up at him as he folded his hands together and set them in front of him, “it would be poor form to share the secret with someone else at this juncture.”

Ben blinked as he processed his General's words and suddenly felt a wash of embarrassment fill him. His General thought _that_ highly of him? Of the Culper Ring and of his skills? Even since he had been sent to Boston or even before then? His General trusted him that much since he had received intelligence from Abigail in Philadelphia, but had worried for him? “...Sir...” he did not know what to say.

“I will have Billy discreetly train you on the basics he learned from Mr. Sackett to supplement your rifling skills,” Washington said quietly and Ben stared.

“Billy-”

“Was Mr. Sackett's apprentice. Mr. Sackett was a member of the Assassin Brotherhood and had come to me for shelter when the Templars were hunting down members of their order. He understood my connections and still had the courage to ask me for sanctuary.”

“Oh,” Ben did not know what else to say to that. It made more sense now that he had all of the puzzle pieces in front of him. Like he could suddenly see the board in a wicked game of draughts and could easily see how to win at it.

“Please call Billy and the Marquis back in, if you will. There is much to discuss from today's events and the battle fought,” Washington lifted a hand in a clear dismissal and Ben bowed his head slightly as he turned and headed to the door.

Just as he opened it, he heard Washington speak up, pride evident in his voice, “And I might add, Benjamin, an excellent shot. You do your father much credit to the skills you have learned.”

Ben smiled as he glanced back and acknowledged the praise with the tilt of his head. “Thank you, sir.”

 

~END~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of the date of this posting: this series is unofficially on hiatus until Season 3 comes out for "TURN: Washington's Spies." I'll resume writing in this series when that happens since I'm anticipating Benedict Arnold's treachery to mash it together with AC3's Benedict Arnold DLC missions.


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